Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  For the rest of the ride, he did just that. Turned out most of their extended relatives had either passed on or lived elsewhere. D.J.’s parents had planned to have a large family, but complications from Bubba’s birth had prevented his mother from having any more children. She still mourned the loss but found her solace in a strong relationship with the Lord and in her local Full Gospel church, where she’d acquired some fame as a gospel-style pianist. She’d raised her boys to believe in God, country, and hard work.

  “I think you’ll like my mama,” he said with a smile. “Can’t wait for you to meet her. And vice versa.”

  “Me too.”

  As the conversation lapsed, I couldn’t help but think of my own mother. She’d given birth to five children, and the ensuing chaos of raising a houseful of hooligans quickly followed. Spoiled hooligans, no less. Our family reunions consisted of rambunctious relatives, an overabundance of rich foods, and arguments before night’s end. Never a dull moment in the Rossi household. Would the Neeleys be put off by our craziness when the families met face-to-face the night of the wedding rehearsal? Would they mind that their son had fallen for a girl who’d never even been to Splendora, Texas? Who couldn’t line dance to save her life? Who—gasp!—attended the Methodist church? I whispered a prayer that they would somehow see beyond any differences and sweep me into the fold.

  As we approached downtown, D.J. turned onto Highway 59, continuing the drive north. I drew in a deep breath, knowing we’d just come to the proverbial fork in the road. My world as I knew it ended at the intersection of Interstate 45 and Highway 59. Beyond that point lay the vast unknown. An undiscovered galaxy. A place I’d never pictured myself traveling. Could I really trust God with the things I couldn’t see or control?

  My breathing escalated, but I did my best to slow it back down as I pondered these things. That’s what faith is all about, Bella. Deep breath, girl.

  We sat in evening traffic until we reached the Kingwood area, north of Houston. Then suddenly the terrain changed. The forest seemed to grow up on both sides of the freeway. Beautiful green pines stretched majestically toward the sky.

  “Oh, D.J.! This is amazing.”

  “Yep.” Just one word, but it spoke volumes.

  Our conversation quieted, and I breathed in the unexpected beauty of my unfamiliar surroundings. I felt as if we’d slipped off into a green wonderland, where ribbons of late afternoon sunlight danced through the green needles of the sturdy pines. The whole thing reminded me of a fairy tale, something with animated characters dancing to beautifully scored music. But never mind the dwarves and magic mirrors. Skip the choreography. I just hoped this story would wrap up with the classic happily-ever-after ending.

  Shaking off my daydreams, I shifted my attention back to the road. D.J. exited the freeway and turned onto a side street. We crossed over railroad tracks and wound our way down a country lane. The trees enveloped us on both sides now, casting shadows of their limbs onto the road below. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever seen anything so pretty. Or so awe inspiring. The whole thing was breathtaking.

  D.J. made a couple more turns, and we finally came to a stop in front of a double-wide trailer with the most colorful garden I’d ever seen.

  “Wow.” I stared in silence.

  “Mom’s really into azaleas,” he explained.

  “They’re amazing.” I drew in a deep breath and prayed as he came around to my side of the truck to let me out. Half of me wanted to stay put, and the other half just wanted to get this over with.

  My feet touched down on the ground, and he leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek, then whispered, “Don’t be nervous.”

  “M-me? Nervous?”

  “Mm-hmm. You’re shaking.”

  “Oh.” A few calming breaths did the trick.

  Within seconds, the front door swung open, and a man who looked like an older version of D.J. appeared with a broad smile on his face. “So, the prodigal has returned?”

  “I’ve returned.” D.J. grinned.

  “Well, good thing we killed the fatted calf then. Should I call for the neighbors? Throw a welcome-home party? Try to locate your brother?”

  “Nah.”

  The boisterous man bounded down the wooden stairs and wrapped his son in a fatherly embrace.

  D.J. responded with a boyish grin. “Dad, this is Bella Rossi.” He slipped an arm around my shoulders, and I reveled in the comfort of his touch.

  “Bella.” Mr. Neeley’s warm smile put me at ease right away. I extended a hand in his direction, trying to hide my nervousness. He shook it, then gave me a welcoming hug. “I’m Dwayne Neeley.”

  Duh-wayne. His pronunciation took me back to my first phone conversation with D.J. Had it really only been a week ago? Felt like I’d known him for years.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Glad you could join us tonight, Bella.” Mr. Neeley gave me a pat on the back, then released his hold on me.

  I looked into the man’s sparkling eyes and felt at home right away. Still, many things about him surprised me. D.J.’s dad wore a button-up Western-style shirt and dark jeans. And boots, of course. But it wasn’t really his clothing that captured my attention. No, something else altogether drew me in. The man had picture-perfect hair. I’d never seen anything like it. Not a strand out of place. Perfect color—brown with shimmers of gray shining through. Perfect design—parted on the side and neatly combed. Impressive.

  “My baby boy is home!” A female voice rang out, and I realized D.J.’s mama had joined us. I shot a glance her way, nerves taking hold. Ah, so the boys got their looks from their father. Still, Earline Neeley had a great “mama” look about her, and genuine kindness radiated from her sparkling eyes. Now this was a woman I could love. I just hoped she felt the same way about me. And my wacky family.

  “You must be Bay-luh.” She wrapped me in an embrace, and her chest—which reminded me a bit of our family’s two basketballs, only softer—nearly swallowed me whole. I sucked in my breath and waited for the hug to end. Turned out Earline was a professional hugger.

  Finally, just about the time I thought I’d pass out from lack of oxygen, she stepped back and examined me from head to toe. “Well, if you aren’t about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. C’mon in here, Bay-luh, and have a seat. We’re fixin’ to eat.”

  She ushered me inside, and within minutes we sat together at their handcrafted oak table. Dwayne Sr. prayed over the food, and then we dove in. Earline’s chicken-fried steak was the best I’d ever eaten in my life.

  I must’ve appeared a little bug-eyed as I ate, because D.J. glanced my way and laughed. “Enjoying that?”

  “Mm-hmm!” I shoveled another bite into my mouth, then paused, realizing the impression I must be giving. Noticing the others seemed to be eating at about the same pace, I dove back in. “These mashed potatoes are so creamy.” I took a bite and closed my eyes, sheer ecstasy setting in.

  “Well, thank you, honey.” Earline’s cheeks flushed pink. “I can whip up taters in my sleep.”

  At that moment I had the strangest picture flash into my mind. I could just see Aunt Rosa and Earline in the kitchen together, peeling taters. Side by side. The Rossis and the Neeleys. We were destined to unite. Of course, with Aunt Rosa involved, there would be the usual bantering over which was better—mashed or fried—but by the end of the meal, we’d all be one big, happy, well-fed family. Right?

  D.J.’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Say, where’s Bubba?” he asked his mother. “I thought sure he’d be here tonight.”

  “Haven’t seen him all day,” Earline said with the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I suspect he’s with that gal he met down in Galveston.”

  “W-was her name Jenna?” I knew the answer even before asking, of course.

  “Yes, that’s it.” Earline grinned. “I dare say Bubba is downright twitterpated.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Well, this explained why Jenna had called in sick yesterday and tod
ay. A little white lie, perhaps? A secret date with Bubba Neeley?

  “He’s one-over for her,” Earline continued. “Never seen the likes of it. But I’ve been praying for my boys since they were knee-high to grasshoppers that God would bring just the right girls to be their wives. So why should I be surprised when it happens? No sir. Not surprised a bit.”

  Earline promptly gave me a wink, and I felt my stomach lurch. Was she trying to tell me I was the one for D.J.? The one she’d prayed for all these years? The wink told me yes, but my fears said a feeble no.

  Turning my attention back to the food, I enjoyed the last of my mashed taters and chicken-fried steak. Oh, what a fascinating trip this was turning out to be!

  At ten minutes to seven, just after serving up hefty portions of banana pudding, Earline rose to her feet. “We need to get on the ball, folks. Church starts in ten minutes. Won’t be much of a worship service if the piano player’s missing.” She gave me another wink.

  “Church?” I looked at D.J., surprised by this news. He hadn’t mentioned anything about visiting his parents’ church tonight. Did we really have time, what with the long drive back to Galveston and all?

  He flashed a “Sorry about that” look, and I responded with a sympathetic shrug. I didn’t mind, really. No, if it made Earline happy, it would make D.J. happy. And if it made D.J. happy, it would ultimately make me happy. So, off to church we went.

  D.J. and I followed along behind his father’s truck until we came to a tiny wood-framed church on concrete blocks just a few blocks from the Neeley home. The sign out front read FULL GOSPEL CHAPEL IN THE PINES. I could hear a steady drumbeat coming from inside, along with the repetitive strum of an electric guitar. Our Methodist congregation boasted an organ and a piano, but with the exception of the youth department, we wouldn’t know what to do with a set of drums. Not that I minded the drums here. No sir. I loved the idea of a rousing song service, especially in such a quaint church tucked under the canopy of these beautiful pines. And besides, this would serve as a nice distraction from the chaos of late. Perhaps the Lord was calling me away to a quiet place with him.

  Or not so quiet. The music escalated, and the sound of women’s voices—laughing, talking, and squealing in delight—filled the air.

  Following along behind D.J., I climbed up the rickety wooden steps and entered the small foyer, where a row of larger-than-life women greeted me with enthusiastic hugs. I met Sister Twila, Sister Jolene, and Sister Bonnie Sue. Though everyone referred to the buxom trio as sisters, I had a feeling they weren’t related. And they definitely weren’t nuns. No, the eclectic wardrobes convinced me of that. Well, that and Sister Jolene’s beehive hairdo.

  The worship service turned out to be different from any I’d ever experienced. I recognized a few of the choruses, but they had a distinctive Southern gospel feel to them. While I was accustomed to a rather High Church form of worship, this certainly had its appeal. All around me, men and women swayed to the rhythm and raised their hands in joyful praise.

  Through the crowd of upraised arms, I sneaked a peek at Earline, who played the piano with reckless abandon. Some folks were just born with a gift from on high, and this woman was one of them. Leaning forward, eyes closed, she allowed the music to flow through her fingertips. And talk about fast! Earline had the Jerry Lee Lewis anointing, for sure.

  Now that I’d seen D.J.’s mother in action, I had to wonder if he had any musical abilities, anything that would help him in his new role of deejay. As if in answer to my question, he began to sing. I turned in rapt awe as the most beautiful bass voice I’d ever heard pealed forth. Wow. The boy could sing. And then some. I did my best to warble along, but to be honest, Guido could carry a tune better than I could. Determined not to get frustrated, I closed my eyes and focused on worshiping, reminding myself that all the Lord asked of me was a joyful noise. I happily obliged.

  The tempo of the music changed to something really lively, and everyone clapped along. I did my best to join in, but my ADD got the better of me when Sister Jolene took to dancing in the aisle, her exaggerated hairdo bobbing this way and that. Before long, Sister Bonnie Sue joined in, her bright pink dress swaying in the breeze. Then Sister Twila kicked up her heels and did a jig that reminded me a bit of Rosa and her Italian folk dances. By the end of the song, I literally felt the sway of the wood-framed building. It shifted back and forth on its concrete block foundation as the larger-than-life trio worshiped the Lord with their whole hearts and every ounce of strength.

  But I didn’t mind. On the contrary, I found myself in a different place spiritually as I witnessed such intense, heartfelt worship. I had to wonder what Aunt Rosa would think of all this. If given the chance, would she join the trio of sisters, turning in happy circles and lifting her arms to the heavens, or would she steal their seats when they weren’t looking?

  Before I could give this idea any more thought, Pastor Higley, a slightly chubby, balding man, rose to begin the Bible study. Just then—to my great horror—my cell phone rang. I felt my cheeks heat up as everyone turned to face me. The pastor waved his hand my way. “Don’t worry about it, sister. Just give ’em a warm hello from all of us and invite ’em to Sunday service.”

  I started to ignore the call but then recognized the number as Sharlene’s. Worming my way out of the pew, I muttered my apologies to D.J. and answered the phone as I hit the aisle. “Hang on a second, Sharlene,” I whispered.

  Pastor Higley went back to teaching as I reached the back of the aisle. Heading into the tiny foyer, I exhaled. “Sorry. I was in church.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She went into a lengthy dissertation about how she’d forgotten it was Wednesday night. About how the days had all been running together. After a few minutes she stopped to ask, “Wait a minute. Where are you?”

  “In church,” I repeated.

  “Is that Pastor Higley’s voice I hear in the background? Cody’s grandpa?”

  “Well, I, um . . .”

  “Are you at Chapel in the Pines?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Girl, are you dating that handsome cowboy? Our deejay?”

  She let out a whistle, and I groaned before responding. “Well, if you can count a Wednesday night church service as a date, I guess you could say that. Oh, and we went out for dinner last weekend. I choked on a piece of steak, and he saved my life by performing the Heimlich maneuver.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  “Well, thank God you’re still among the living.” Sharlene laughed. “I need you too much right now. Promise not to do anything crazy between now and the dress rehearsal on Friday night, okay?”

  I glanced back in the church as the trio of full-figured sisters hollered out a resounding “Amen!” then turned my attention back to Sharlene.

  “I promise to be careful, but that’s about it. When it comes to slipping over the edge of crazy, I’ve already done it.” I dove into the story about the eighty boots, then told Sharlene all about the D.J./deejay misunderstanding, but reassured her that everything would go well on her big day now that D.J. and Armando were working together. After that, I shared my heart about the wedding facility, even going so far as to tell her about my fears and concerns that I’d run my family’s business into the ground. All the while, I heard Pastor Higley’s voice in the background as he talked about trusting God with your problems.

  At the end of the conversation, Sharlene—the bride-to-be, the one I should be encouraging—offered to pray with me. Ironic, but her prayer corresponded with the one going on in the little chapel. In fact, the words were pretty much the same as her future grandfather-in-law’s. She prayed that I would find peace in the middle of my storm and that God would have his way, even if it meant moving me out of the way.

  The service ended, and Sharlene must’ve picked up on the fact because she said she had to go. I whispered a quick “Thanks for praying me back from the abyss” as a crowd of folks rushed me in the tiny foyer.


  D.J. headed my way with a concerned look on his face. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. The bride-to-be.” I offered a “you know how brides can be” smile, and he responded with a nod, though I doubted he had a clue.

  “Is she falling apart at the seams?”

  No, but I am.

  In that moment, as I stared into D.J.’s sympathetic eyes, the shocking truth set in. I’d fallen in so many ways, and not just in relation to the wedding. I’d tumbled head over heels for D.J. Neeley, and there was no returning from the depths. This little Italian girl was . . . what was that word Earline had used again?

  Ah yes—I was twitterpated.

  16

  Please Don’t Talk about Me When I’m Gone

  On Friday morning I stayed in bed later than usual. Precious, usually ready to go outdoors at the crack of dawn, slept peacefully at my side. I did my best not to wake her. I needed time to absorb everything that had happened over the past few days. The wedding preparations. The boots. D.J. The neighbor kid. Earline’s piano-playing abilities. Pastor Higley. Dwayne Sr.’s perfect hair. The trio of sisters at Chapel in the Pines.

  Maybe D.J. had it right when he said the coming together of our two families would be more than east meets west. More than city meets country. To merge my life with his in any way, shape, or form would mean a whole new perspective . . . on pretty much everything. Food. Automobiles. Worship. You name it.

  Not that I really minded. No, I’d fallen hard and fast for the boy and would do just about anything within reason to cement this relationship. But did I have it in me to move to the country and take up gospel singing? Could I ask the sisters for dancing lessons? How would the Neeleys feel about Precious, my somewhat less-than-perfect canine companion? And how would my mama take the news that I was moving to the country?